


On Deaf Ears

by to_the_wick (Jei_Stark)



Series: Pressure Suit [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Afghanistan, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 15:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jei_Stark/pseuds/to_the_wick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seeing war is different from hearing it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Deaf Ears

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Pressure Suit fanmix covering the entirety of the first Iron Man movie, this fic was written to the song "..." by Not To Reason Why. The novelization didn't cover this part of the movie -- it skipped from the funvee straight to the kidnap video -- so I tried my hand at the ambush scene.

And suddenly, he couldn't _hear._  
  
A slow, keening high pitched noise was all he was really aware of, filling the space between his ears, and he stumbled once or twice because he couldn't actually hear his heavy footsteps echoing on the hard packed sand. Had he have been able to hear, he would have been acutely aware of the gunshots rattling around him like pebbles falling on glass, and he wouldn't have been able to get up and _move_. His ability to move was what ultimately saved him, really, as the place where he'd fallen only minutes before was now a dark, hot circle of glass.  
  
 _Move, he said get down, have to move, where am I going to get down, where the hell shit shit shit fuck._  
  
He stumbled again, landing on his hands and knees for a split second before pushing up and vaulting himself forward, lurching toward a high rock outcropping just as another shudder rumbled the ground. His back hit the hard rock and he slid down to the ground, keeping low. He could hear it all dimly now, a low grunting sound, and somewhere in his otherwise blank mind he supposed his hearing would return in the next minute. His breathing was heavy, and he figured that would help him gauge whether or not he could hear, because he was very seriously intending on intentionally tuning out every sound around him.  
  
It was one thing to see war, thanks to the media. But it was a whole other animal entirely to _hear_ it.  
  
Months later -- after the Mark I had given way to the Marks II and III, after Obadiah and the Monger, after _I am Iron Man_ \-- he would think of this moment, but not because of the marked sense of realism it held in his mind even after he had finished living it. He would think of this moment because it was the first of many in which he could swear, swear on everything he held holy in his life, that despite being unable to hear anything around him he could hear the distinct sound of Pepper's voice calling his name, uncertain and high pitched and verging on hysterical. And it wasn't Mr. Stark, it was _Tony, Tony,_ except then his name eventually dissolved into gunfire and incoherent yelling and the whistle-boom of nearby missiles. He blinked hard, making sure he wasn't going to suddenly dissolve into some fucked up kind of PTSD-induced panic attack right in the middle of the battlefield.  
  
And that's what it was, wasn't it? It was a goddamn battlefield now, and somewhere out there was Rhodey and his crew fighting the good fight. He'd already seen Rhodey on top of one of the humvees ( _funvee, what the fuck was I thinking_ ) with a mounted machine gun and god knows what was going to happen to him. Was this what he walked into all the time? _This_ was what he signed up for? And knowing this, he had Tony for a _friend?_ Tony Stark, the motherfucking merchant of death? Friends close and enemies closer was how the saying went, wasn't it? So, what, was Rhodey just ensuring that his side won? Was that it?  
  
Tony pulled out his cell phone in a desperate effort to stop his brain from rebelling, to stop it from thinking thoughts he didn't want to think -- that everything was against him now, that the world was collapsing over his head and he had been the one to shoot the ceiling first. Or at least he had been the one with the biggest gun, the one who did the most damage. _Fuck,_ he thought absently, words tumbling into each other like a broken record. _Fuck fuck fuck. Stupid stupid stupid stupid fuck._  
  
Tony wanted to call someone, anyone, except he ended up scrolling through his contacts list and finding no one he actually cared to call. It was in alphabetical order, and he hadn't yet reached the P section. Too many numbers, too little of them important -- his thumb slipped from the Down button to the End button, launching another bout of cursing in his head --  
  
He heard more than felt the _thump_ next to him.  
  
Staring at the hunk of metal that had landed, he was vaguely aware of two things: one, it had his name on it, and two, he remembered drawing out the blueprints for it. In a too-slow moment, his eyes widened.  
  
Before Tony could take three steps back, he lost his hearing again.  
  
He hit the ground with a hard smack, but it wasn't his back he was really feeling. His chest was burning, and he wanted to scream and scream and not ever stop, but he barely had enough energy to lift his head up. His hands reached for his jacket, his shirt, touched the stickiness that was spreading. Everything around him was hot, and now it was in him, this fire, this unholy sandy glassy messy heat, and he couldn't get it out, didn't have the strength to. _Maybe it was there all this time,_ he thought wildly.  
  
He blacked out.


End file.
